The snow lays quiet outside
and I’m left here alone
a passenger on a reckless ride
an hour to kill before I go home
why did I even bother here
there’s nothing here to say
horizon painfully unclear
my words are blown away
oh, to do it right I dream
and the dream hangs above my head
the mending of a tattered seam
and the day through which I tread
I lust for things afar
and my soul no one has seen
no one knows what my dreams are
they can’t know what I mean
lost and away to be
the blonde hair of another place
through my tired squint I see
a sun-kissed heavenly face

what the hell am I doing here
this is not where I belong
what fate has left me here
singing someone else’s song

Tom, Tom
he’s long gone
gone away from here
ain’t never coming home

(from “Part Four: Tragic Glorious”)

I remember that night. We’ve all had our hang-outs and one of ours was a 24-hour donut shop. It was winter and, as usual, I wanted to ‘be away’. Ended up borrowing from Tom Waits’ “Gun Street Girl”.